I drive down the street in silence,
Return a movie, stop by Sonic to
Get a Dr Pepper,
And then continue on toward . . .
Home?

I live almost anonymously in the city now,
Just like I once dreamed of doing,
While living too well known.
No.
Not known.
Known of.

I thought then how wonderful it would be
To just be a stranger,
To raise my head up and
Look around and see only people who
About me knew
Nothing.

That would be a relief, I thought then.
And it is.

I go to the grocery store
And see only people I do not know,
Have never seen before,
And will probably never see again.
No one knows who I am here.

No one knew who I was there either.
But they thought they did.
And that was worse.

With a sigh I realize
That yes, this is better.
Quiet mostly.
Peace mostly.
But is this it?

I’m not sure where I’m going.
But I hope I’m not there yet.

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About dahnajeen

I'm Donna Jean Hunter. My 3rd grade teacher, Mrs. Patterson told me I was a great writer and would be an author when I grew up. She always had me read my stories to the class, and even took me around to the other classrooms to have me read to them. I'm pretty sure the other kids all hated me that year. I don't care though. I love Mrs. Patterson. Of course she did not know then about the Internet and blogging and how much of what people read would no longer be on paper when I grew up. I have had a few things published in a college literary journal, and once, for a few weeks--until it threatened to kill me with boredom and I quit--I actually received pay for working as a technical writer. But so far, I have not been able to say that I'm a writer in the sense that it is what I do for a living. I still sort of dream of that happening one day. But in the meantime, I teach high school English, and can't stop being a writer whether anyone reads it or not. I hope someone enjoys some of it.

6 Responses to Not Yet

Sadly beautiful. Have you found your peace now, you think? Or do you harbor angst toward those who knew “about you”? I ask because this I’ve sought anonymity for the past several years as well.

I used to be the Social Organizer, the Get To Know You Girl. Now I’m in a house back in the trees behind an automatic gate with a pass code. Our home is always full of others, but it’s our teenagers’ friends now. I find them far more refreshing than the people who used to fill our home on a regular basis.

I seek solitude because my B.S. radar is finely honed, which tends to lead to cynicism, particularly toward “church folks”. I’m not talking about the rare nitty gritty believers who inspire us, just the fake believers who don’t comprehend the difference in faith and church pride.

I’ll still talk for hours to a stranger on an airplane that I’ll never see again, and I love visiting with people at functions like the concert in the park series during the summer where it offers only a few nice minutes and then a long-term goodbye. I’ll say hello to whomever is sitting beside us on Sunday morning and compliment their children. But I now prefer our family alone-ness to all that “edification” we used to get multiple times a week that only seemed to drain us of all family time. I’ve bombed relationships that used to be a vital part of my every day in order to escape the mainstream with guaranteed permanence. And I’ll be damned if I’m ever going to give up the peace that our family now has and go back to that corner of hell that’s ironically named after Jesus.

Sheila, no I wouldn’t say I have found peace yet, or even that I feel much hope of ever finding it. I still grieve over the family that didn’t work, and resent the fact that I couldn’t have what I thought was a pretty simple wish for my life. I am pretty thoroughly confused about things spiritual (see first entry of this blog) and lonely, and scared about finances and just the future in general. I feel like all my life I have had to carry burdens alone that should be shared, and that this is never going to change. I’m sick of being strong. I am worn out, burned out, and overwhelmed . . . I’m tired. I’m just so tired. I’m too old for this and I’m not big enough for this. Peace? Pfffftttt. I wish!

Oh, and yeah – I still some of have the angst I guess . . . if that’s the right word for it. I’m not sure, but something negative.

Ginger you are just so beautiful inside and out. You have such a gift for sweet, tender, calming, and encouraging words – that soothing, uplifting nature is part of what made you such a great midwife and labor coach, and a big part of what makes you such a good friend. I love you.